Page 90 of Claimed By My Biker Daddies
Roman’s hand squeezes my throat tighter, his other hand mauling my tits, twisting my nipples until I scream.
“Good girl,” Roman snarls, thrusting harder, his cock battering my walls while Deacon’s stretches me wider than I thought possible. “Take us. Take all of it. You’re ours.”
And I do—I take every brutal thrust, every filthy word, every claim, my body aching and trembling, my voice breaking into mindless cries as they use me together, pounding me into the mattress, splitting me open until my mind is gone and all that’s left is heat, drool, and the chorus of their groans.
Roman’s cock slams into my pussy from below, thick and deep, stretching me raw.
Deacon pounds my ass from behind, his thrusts brutal, each one shoving me further down onto Roman until I swear I’m splitting apart.
Their rhythm staggers and collides, messy and relentless, and every time they bottom out together I scream, my vision whiting out.
The wet slap of Roman’s balls, the heavy crack of Deacon’s hips, the obscene sound of my body being used — it all blends into one filthy chorus that fills the room.
My throat is raw from crying out, spit dripping down my chin, drool smearing Roman’s chest where my tongue lolls useless.
“Look at her,” Deacon growls behind me, his voice thick, ragged. His hand smacks across my ass, the sting sharp, making me clench around both of them. “She’s gone. Fucking drooling, pussy gripping you, ass milking me. You love it, don’t you, Marisa?”
I try to answer, I swear I do, but all that comes out is a strangled sob, my body shuddering, cunt convulsing around Roman’s cock.
Roman snarls, his grip tightening at my throat, cutting my breath to a thin rasp. “She loves it,” he growls back, fucking up into me harder, faster, the bed crashing against the wall with every brutal slam.
“This little body was made to be ruined by us. Say it, angel. Say you love being split open.”
My voice is wrecked, broken, but the words scrape out of me. “Yes—fuck—yes—I love it—I can’t—oh god?—”
Roman slams up, Deacon slams down, and I scream again, my back arching as my whole body convulses.
My pussy gushes around Roman’s cock, soaking us both, and he groans, driving through it like a man possessed.
“Good girl,” he rasps against my ear, grinding deep, his chest slick with sweat. “Make a mess all over me. Show him how sweet you squeeze when you come.”
Deacon snarls low, grabbing my hips hard enough to bruise. “Christ, she’s clenching so tight I can barely move.” He thrusts harder, punishing, pounding into my ass until my scream breaks, high and sharp. “I’ll split you wider. I’ll fuck you until you forget your own name.”
Roman laughs dark against my mouth, his cock jackhammering into me with bruising force. “Forget her name? The only thing she’ll remember is ours.”
I’m choking on it, on them, on everything.
My tits bounce in Roman’s hands, his thumbs pinching my nipples until I writhe, sobbing.
My cunt squeezes him like a fist, my ass spasms around Deacon, and they both groan, voices guttural, hungry.
The mirror across the dresser catches me—hair plastered to my face, eyes glazed, tongue lolling out, drool spilling, tits swollen and marked from Roman’s mouth.
I look ruined, used, fucked open like a toy.
The sight makes me shudder and moan, my walls clenching again around Roman’s cock.
Deacon notices.
He yanks my hair back, forcing my head up toward the mirror.
“Look at yourself,” he growls, his cock pounding harder, bruising deep in my ass. “Look at the filthy little slut you are. Two cocks splitting you and you’re still begging for more.”
My voice is shredded, but I manage a ragged, “More—please—don’t stop?—”
Roman’s roar fills my ear as he thrusts harder, sweat dripping from his brow onto my face.
His chest crushes mine, his hand tight on my throat as his hips hammer up into me, relentless. “That’s it, angel. Beg. Show us what you’re made for.”
